Rapito da Diavoli: Chapter 2
by RosenGrau
Summary: I'm shocked and appreciative that people are reading this. People on my Tumblr asked for a second chapter, so, here it is. It's a tad NSFW.


That night was super weird, there was absolutely no doubt about it. But, much to your surprise, it had been a quiet few weeks since that night. Your car was fixed, work was going decently well, everything was kind of looking up. You told absolutely no one about what happened; partially because no one would believe you and partially because you have a distinct feeling the kidnapper would be all but pleased if you did. If it weren't for the wad of cash they had left you with you would have assumed it was some very strange fever dream. It still kind of felt like one. You have never heard of a kidnapping that went quite like this. I mean, who in their right mind would kidnap someone, leave, let someone else come in, watch scary movies and then cuddle on the couch. Your own actions that night were pretty shocking, to be frank. Under any normal circumstance you would not let some strange man, one that you don't even know the name of, cling to you like he was. Nor would you have kissed his forehead. Sure, you can chalk up first couple affectionate things as you saving your own skin, but that kiss was not something you could just explain away. There wasn't much excuse for that.

There isn't much you could do about it now, you thought. The store wasn't too busy so you had plenty of opportunity to space out and think about the mysterious encounter. It wasn't until someone cleared their throat did you actually pay attention to what you're being payed to do.

"Hey! Is your lane open or what?" A rather impatient middle aged woman was glaring at you, her foot tapping impatiently against the cool tile of the store. "Sorry, sorry, let me check you out." She was every bit the angry customer stereotype, just great. This was how you got to end your shift. Just great. She yells a bit about your incompetence, she's clearly had a bad day and it's somehow your fault, and huffs as much as her lungs can manage. Naturally it's your job to kiss ass at all times so the must you can manage is a feigned smile and facetious tone. That only furthers her annoyance, but shes unsure why. Aha! She may get to treat you like garbage but you can do the same thing right back and not get caught. That, was the best feeling. It almost made up for the fact you were working a crappy retail job and still going to school in your 20′s. All your friends were moving on to bigger and better things: marriage, children, doctoral degrees, actual jobs, etc. Yet here you were, standing in local trades store, complaining about your dead end job. You _could_ go into debt to go to school and you _could_ try to start dating again, but to be honest, the actual pay-off seemed so hard to actually obtain. You've dated to many asshole and tried to hard in school to be very optimistic about things. In employment, you hardly make enough for rent and food and all the left over money gets spent on whatever you fancy at the moment, sure it's not a great budgeting scheme but it helps keep you happy where you are. Had it not been for that "gentleman" you would have been stuck with no way to fix your car other than to get a loan, which would've been really, really bad in the grand scheme of things. Is it healthy to think that your kidnapper saved you the hassle? No. But, at least it's honest if not very concerning.

To try and rid yourself of suck nasty thoughts you go back to concentrating on work. Wiping the same spot a thousand times was much better than having to deal with your current head space. Your boss seems to notice you're a bit out of it two and sends you home an hour early, which right not seems like a god sent but future you will likely regret it once that paycheck rolls in. Oh well, that's not the current concern. Today is errand day.

First stop, and really the only important stop, is the grocery store. You've got 80 dollars to make two weeks of frozen food and soda taste halfway decent. You managed to fill up your cart leaving you with around 5 dollars left of wiggle room, meaning, you could buy one more small thing. Knowing that most of your food was kinda bland, you decide to settle on a spice. Waiting for you in the aisle was the purple-haired man, staring at the spices. He looks really lost. You probably should not go up and help him, but, he seems relatively harmless and he's kinda adorable. So, you kinda of have to. It would be almost _cruel_ not to. After all, it's not like he's the one who kidnapped you or threatened your life. All he did was help you walk and clung to you for dear life while watching a movie. So, he can't be all that bad. Besides, you hadn't had a date in awhile anyways. This boy was cute and you may be a little smitten with him.

He jumped comically when you put a hand on his shoulder, shocked to see you. Or, at least, he looked surprised. "Y/N! I, um, I didn't expect to see you here!" You never told him your name, but the kidnapper knew it, so, you weren't shocked his _friend_ knew it too. "Hey friend, whatcha looking for?" The purple-haired man looked away quickly, as if he was in deep thought. "I," he pauses again, "I forgot." He looked pretty earnest about it too, this probably was some honest mishap. "Mmm," what could he need in the spice aisle? Well, to know that he'd have to remember what he was going to make. "Well what did you want to make?" The purple-haired man tugged at his bangs, again, thinking. It was a long few minutes before he responded. "I, I forgot." Oh no. Not only is he adorable, but he's an air-head too. That's another hit to the urge to mother the man. Looking at his basket it's full of: flour, sugar, oil, ricotta, eggs, vanilla, dark chocolate, and cream. Looking at the ingredients, you assumed that one, he was making a single thing, and two, it was a dessert. Furthermore, it looked like a baked good. One of the more popular desserts of your area was zeppoles, so it might be that. "Are you making zeppoles? And maybe a chocolate sauce?" His eyes widened before nodding quickly, "that's it, thanks" The purple haired man smiled broadly at you, eyes scrunched up sweetly. His bespeckled face and the way he smiled made him seem a lot younger than you suspected him to be, maybe it was a good time to ask that. "Mister, I know you might not answer, but how old are you?" There is no way you were going to pursue him if he was just a child, you had to make sure. "Ah? Well, I, um," he looked to the side thoughtfully, "I'm 33."

Oh. That was older than you expected. He just looked young, thank god. Now, back to the problem at hand. What does someone making zeppoles need from the spice section? Since he's likely not to remember and you wanted to help, you decided to make that decision for him. "Hey, mister, maybe you needed this?" You get up on your tiptoes and grab a small bottle of rum flavoring. Rum usually makes for a divine dark chocolate sauce so, even if it wasn't what he originally wanted, it would do. The man looked at his basket and then back at you. "I'm not sure if that was what I needed, but, it sounds good to me." He took the bottle from your hands, his brushing up against yours gently. His skin was just as soft as it was the night but it was still a bit clammy. His smile shied slightly as he stuck the bottle in his basket. His voice came out much softer and calmer than it had before, "[Y/N], could you do me a favor?" His head sunk low on his shoulders and cocked to the side, all for the purpose of looking up at you. His eyebrows here tilted downwards and his mouth sunk into a small pout. That pleading look, was he learning your weakness? Well, when he looks like that, you have to at least hear him out.

"What," you pause, double checking with yourself about this man's trust worthiness. You decide to trust him. "-is this favor?" He smiled softly and straightened up again. "Can I use your kitchen?" While you had no idea why he would want to your dingy kitchen, as opposed to the one you assumed the luxurious house might have, when he likely has a much better one? To be honest, it sounded like some ploy to get closer to you but you didn't mind. "Sure thing, mister." You returned his smile and he visibly relaxed, smiling just as brightly as he had before.

You ended up driving him to your house and the car drive was pretty quiet overall. You both listened to the radio while you drove. He seemed to be busying himself looking around your car, familiarizing himself with your things. It wasn't long before you felt his gaze rest on you. It wasn't really scary but it was slightly unnerving. It was fixed on your face. It was a nice change to have a man not stare at your breasts, your behind, or your thighs: such eyes have been on you before but you had always felt like they looked at you like a dog hungry for it's next meal. I was pretty flattering he was so transfixed on your face, that was the kind of gaze you wanted. Something that made you feel special, after all if there was anything unique on someone it was their face. The acknowledgement of said flattery slowly made it's way to your face. You felt the heat radiating of your cheeks as you pulled up into your apartment's parking lot. Thankfully, your spot was still open. You both exit the car after you place it in park and turn it off. When you go to grab groceries, the man is suddenly at you side. He gently pushes your arm, still out stretched to grab your bags, and grabbed them. "I can carry these, _cara mia._ " The way he those last words was song-like and you were entranced. Not a word of protest left your lips and he grabbed all the bags, you were still a bit stunned by the new title. "[Y/N], are you okay" He pauses before quickly adding, "which one is your apartment?" That snapped you out of it. "4C, here, let me show you!" You ran up to his side before passing him, leading the way to your humble apartment.

Once inside, you decide to try once more to learn more about your new friend. "Mister, will you still not tell me your name?" He put your bags down on the counter, looking anywhere but at you. "No, the b-" He interrupts himself. "No, I can't, maybe next time [Y/N]." He looked decently apologetic, so, you figured you'd drop that yet again. You cannot help but to wonder who "the b" was.

Making the zeppoles with the purple-haired man was a lot more fun then you thought. You split the work fifty-fifty, you took up making the pastry dough while he focused on the dark chocolate sauce. Combining all the ingredients to a saucepan while gently stirring wasn't too hard, but it was getting incredibly sticky. According the the recipe, it was supposed to be this consistency but, seeing as you only have seen the finished product, it couldn't have been that surprising you didn't recognize the zeppoles as they were. It was kind of fun; it reminded you of putty. Whilst you busied yourself heating the mixture in preparation for frying, you felt his eyes on you again. You're reminded of his unwavering gaze in the car, it was just as steadfast as it was then now. It's a mixture between creepy and flattering; but because the person doing it seems so harmless, you lean towards the latter. He's lucky he's so cute otherwise you _probably_ would not be doing this right now. Loneliness can make a person more lenient when it comes to dating, if that's what this was. You weren't really sure. Something hot hit your face disrupting any more thoughts you would have had. It stung a bit and the man next to you quickly started to apologize. Looking around the kitchen, the walls, the ceiling, the counters, the man, and yourself were all splattered with the dark chocolate sauce. He looks silly, there is chocolate both in his long bangs and his cheek. You imagine you probably look just as ridiculous, the smell of chocolate and tingling sensation on your lip would suggest some landed there. He continually stuttered his apologies looking around for a towel to wipe it up with.

"[Y/N] where are your-" He stopped mid sentence, eyes going wide after feeling your finger on his cheek. You swiped up his cheek bone with your thumb, collecting all the chocolate sauce on your finger. Now, you could return all those stares with some flirting of your own. Bringing your thumb to your mouth, you licked the decadent chocolate off your thumb, all the while maintaining eye contact, and slowly swiped your thumb downwards, letting it brush your lower lip. His face went cherry red. "Hey, mister, that tasted really good!" You said with a smile. His arms were frozen by his side, lifted up near his sides as if he were going to grab something, his eyes were wide, his mouth was slightly agape, and there was some kinda of indiscernible Italian leaving his lips. You absolutely left this man shook. He was looking around again stuttering something. It was too quiet and muffled to clearly hear it. Mission accomplished, he's as red as a tomato. He went stiff for a second. "[Y/N]!" You looked over at him, the smugness painted all over your chocolate stained face. "I-" he stutters like mad, "I need to borrow your phone!" He sure does change the subject a lot. Seeing no harm in it, you hand him your Nokia. Once the phone is in his hands, he runs to the bathroom and locks the door. Okay, that's weird. He's purposely being quiet but you can hear small tidbits while you clean up the mess. Something about, "boss", "[Y/N]", and "zeppoles". It seems like he was just describing the days events to someone over the phone. Maybe he worked with this "boss" person earlier, before you met up. It's not uncommon to have a bad day at work after all, you would know.

When he comes back out, his face is still quite red but he's much more calm. "[Y/N], can we go back to the store? I need, uh, more chocolate. I think." All you could do is smile and nod.

After the quick stop at the grocery store, you pick up right where you left off. Except this time, you're doing all the cooking. He apologetically asked if you could finish it off and it was, again, hard to say no to him. He still insisted on at least helping you flavor the sauce so he stood right by your side ready to add things whenever you tell him too. He's close to your side, like when he helped you walk a few weeks back; so close that you could hear his ragged, unsteady breathing. He still had not fully calmed down from your earlier teasing. "Mister, can you add the rum now?" His breath hitched in his throat. "Yes!" He quickly added the rest of the bottle, which, to be honest is too much rum. It will probably taste a lot more "rummy" then it is supposed to. Oh well, rum flavoring tastes pretty good, so you could be way worse off. He shuffles closer, his left side pressed to your left. He's about half on and half off of you. "[Y/N], can I add some of this too?" He's holding up nutmeg and cinnamon. You give him a quick nod and he shuffles forwards. Whilst shaking some of the powders into the chocolate his head rests on your shoulder, his jaw flush against your acromion and the top of the clavicle. "I couldn't reach, I-" He goes quiet after your head presses against his in an affectionate gesture. "Stay."

He had no qualms about keeping his head where it was while you finished frying the zeppoles and put the finishing touches on the sauce. Everything looked delicious; better than you have had recently seeing as ninety percent of your diet was frozen food and the rest, except for the holidays, consisted of fast food. You became ecstatic when he insisted on leaving half of everything with you so you could enjoy it. His smile was small and sheepish but his cheeks were still stained a cherry red; he looked like he was still at least a little embarrassed over the "chocolate incident" that took place an hour before. You waved him goodbye before over indulging yourself in the sweets in front of the TV for a good few hours. You ended up having zeppoles for both dinner and dessert and regretted none of it. It was delicious. Your and the purple man's combined effort ended up in a delicious result. You were actually a much better cook than you thought. You ended up calling your best friend and telling her about having a "date" with this cute man and making killer food. You both laugh over how he reacted and she scolds you for your forwardness even though, a few minutes later, she confessed that she may have pulled a similar stunt had she been brave enough for it. It was one of those hour and a half talks in which you talk about nothing and everything all at once. She complains about work, you complain about work, laugh at your stories, you wallow in each other's company. It was a nice call. However, when you check your phone, you notice something weird. The only call in your log is the one you just had, the rest, had been erased. It seemed that purple-haired man not wanted you to see his friends number, how strange. There was so much that was secretive about him. But that could be mowed over later, right now, you had an impending food coma to sleep off.

After wandering in bed you fell into a deep sleep. You don't remember dreaming, but you do remember feeling slightly cold. You wouldn't have questioned it had you not have found another wad of cash and a note on your nightstand. It was considerably less money than the first time but it was enough money for some gas and some more groceries. The sight of the money was kinda of nice, though you felt a bit guilty about taking it, but the note was far more chastising.

 _[Y/N], he is rather delicate so I "suggest" you consider the consequences of being a little tease before executing your plans._

 _-P.S. your diet is appalling, go get better food commare._

Okay, this _has_ to be the kidnapper's handwriting right? There is no way the purple-haired man wrote about himself in third person and had this drastic of a personality change.

 _Cara Mia_ \- Dear friend

 _Commare_ \- mistress/circus-woman/gossip-monger


End file.
